


Private Dancer

by vanete_druse



Category: Common Law
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Canon Compliant, F/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:08:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4378424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanete_druse/pseuds/vanete_druse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wes meets Alex while stripping to pay his way through law school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Private Dancer

It’s not anything Alex and Wes have ever really discussed, but rather more a silent contract that was sealed with their first kiss - an agreement to never tell anyone the truth of how they met.

Not that anyone they know would actually believe the story, seeing this perfect couple standing before them, complementary in their ironed slacks and pencil skirts, prim and proper and respectable. “We met at the office. We’re both interns,” Alex says to her parents while Wes is still shaking her father’s hand.

It’s not in Wes’s usual demeanor to lie, but he figures he can make an exception in this case. Especially when the alternative is simply so distasteful.

Instead, he simply takes her hand and laces their fingers together, smiling as he tilts his head slightly in her direction. “You two are so beautiful together,” her mother says, delighted and charmed.

"They both like you so much," Alex beams at him in the car on the way back to their shared apartment, rubbing at the inside of his thigh gently and suggestively as he drives.

_Would they still if they knew I shake my ass for dollar bills?_ Wes wants to ask but he already knows the answer to that.

*

It all starts when the rent is due, his car breaks down, and he misses a payment on his student loan all within the same day. Paid internships are few and far between and the shitty minimum wage job he’s stuck in is barely enough to cover his gas bill, much less everything else.

Desperation kicks in, and Wes is halfway through dialing his parent’s home number when his pride forces him to hang up the phone and instead grab his jacket.

It’s not unusual to hear the occasional whisper about lawyers having to do certain unpalatable things in order to make ends meet in the beginning, and Wes tries not to think too deeply about what precisely he is doing when he shows up at the club and asks - no, begs - for a job.

"Well, lord knows you’re cute enough, that’s for sure," The manager says, tapping her chin as she sweeps her eyes over Wes’s body, more clinical and probing than suggestive. "Come meet me in the back and I’ll test you out."

Wes feels strangely numb as she shows him a small stage in a back room, with a pole and a stereo system all of its own; obvious used as a private room where those willing to shell out the large amounts can request personal dances.

The manager tracks down a couple other people - the accountant, an off duty bartender attempting to pick up her check for the week, and a janitor - and sits them down as an audience to Wes’s audition. 

_I could walk away right now. Just say this was a mistake and nobody has to know,_ Wes thinks as he climbs on to the stage, his heart beating hard and fast against his chest.

"I’m going to put on a song and you just show us what you got, okay?" The manager turns on the stereo and picks a song at random, some fast paced rap song with a deep bass that reverberates through Wes’s bones.

_Too late. Guess it’s a good thing my parents forced those dance lessons on me._ But this isn’t a fumbling waltz with a blushing girl - this is watered down sex, with the bare minimum of clothes and gyrating hips.

Wes isn’t a virgin but he feels like one again, slipping his jacket off to the beat and letting it drop before letting himself slide against the pole. He really has no idea what he’s doing, simply letting his body move to the beat, trying his hardest to incorporate pulling off his dark brown Henley to the act.

When the cloth hits the ground, the manager stands and waves her hands to stop him, before turning off the music. The sudden silence leaves his ears ringing, and he stands shirtless beside the pole, panting slightly and feeling awkward.

"Not bad at all. A little clumsy, but it’ll do," She tells him with a smile. "Is there anything special about you that we can add to the act? Packing any heat under there?”

Out of nervousness, Wes scratches his head not certain of what to say; certainly he’s never felt ashamed of anything, but at the same time he doubts he has anything to fawn over. _I’m just average,_ he wants to say. Instead what comes out is, “Well, I do yoga, so I guess I’m pretty flexible.”

"Prove it."

Wes immediately gets down on the stage floor and easily bends himself into a pigeon pose, his body making a lopsided ‘O’ shape with his stomach parallel to the ceiling and his head level to his feet. There’s a slight gasp, and a noise that sounds vaguely like a grunt of approval from the direction of those watching, and the manager says, “You’ve got a spot on our stage. If you come with me to my office we can work out the details…”

He almost forgets his shirt and jacket in his haste.

*

Every night, Wes comes home on light feet, moving softly in the darkness of the apartment in order not to wake Alex. At this point, he has every inanimate object’s place memorized, easily making his way around couches and end tables to avoid stubbed toes. 

Most nights Alex does not stir, either from exhaustion or out of courtesy, knowing how much Wes hates it when she sees him after a long shift, sweaty, his skin still hot with the feeling of all the hands that had grabbed him as he danced. 

Some nights Alex doesn’t care how Wes feels, turning on the light and watching him anyways.

This night, she even goes so far as to slip out of bed, sleepy eyed, her hair unkempt, and shuffles over to embrace him from behind as he places his wallet and keys on their dresser counter. “How much did you make tonight?”

“Come on now, honey. I must smell awful. Go back to sleep.”

“How much?”

Wes reaches into his pocket, pulls out the largest wad of cash Alex has ever seen at once. “About 2000.” 

She whistles softly, reaching out to feel it in her hands, which Wes quickly jerks away from her grip and sets against its own corner on the dresser, not touching any of the other objects. “That’s more than you made the night we met, isn’t it?”

“Trust me, you _don’t_ want that money in your hands. And…yes.”

“You say as if I _haven’t_ touched you everywhere…” Alex smirks, her hands dropping down to his waist, reaching over to kiss his neck.

Wes flushes and tries to move away, shaking his head. “I’m disgusting right now, Alex, trust me-“

“Not to me,” she says softly. Her silk nightgown falls onto the ground almost silently, and it’s all it takes to guide Wes into their shared bed.

*

Two months dancing, and it almost feels normal. His sleeping schedule has shifted slightly to accommodate the extra hours working, and he finds it terrifyingly easy to hang up his suits and slip into tiny underwear and flimsy, rip away clothing for a crowd of excited faces whistling drunkenly at him.

It’s not so bad. Sure, there are the closeted men who grope him incessantly as if he can’t see the faded tan lines on their ring fingers that usually stiff him out of a good tip because they don’t want their wives to notice a huge cash withdrawal on their joint accounts, and bold women who become even bolder with a few drinks in them, declaring all their needs and demanding that he fulfill them right then and there, attempting to coerce him into revealing more than what was strictly legal. But it could be worse, and considering he’s gotten good enough to be getting nearly a thousand a night after his commissions…well, a little discomfort fades into the distance.

That’s when _she_ walks in and Wes is painfully reminded of just how shameful all this really is.

With striking blue eyes and a jawline to die for, her brown hair put up in a messy bun, and a light and airy sundress illuminating her figure in all the right places, it is the one and only time Wes has felt that warm pool of attraction stir from deep within. In any other place, in any other circumstance he felt he might’ve stood a chance; here, he can barely look at her, ignoring her entirely for the other patrons, praying she doesn’t look him in the face while he’s picking up dollar bills off the stage floor.

He’s just made it off the stage and is about to scamper back into the dressing rooms for some cold water and a break before one of the crew stops him, and says, “You’ve been requested for a private dance. Room 2.”

Private dances mean a chance for more money – a lot more, if Wes is smart and his clients are drunk enough and loaded enough – but he’s too tired, he’s feeling the weight of his emotions in his bones and all he wants to do is go home and take a shower. 

Instead, he nods to the crew member, locks away his current earnings in his personal little locker, and takes a minute to ready himself for his audience.

Fresh and steady, Wes straightens his back and walks into the room with as much pride as he can muster…

…only to feel it pop at the sight of blue eyes and curly strands of dark brown hair. 

She’s in a group of women that’s clearly a bachelorette party, sitting off to the side as the blonde in the center to which everybody’s attentions are focused on beckons him forward. “You! You’re the hot one here and I am single for one more night only! Shake that ass for me!”

“For a one song lap dance it’s-“

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t care how much. Get to dancing!”

Wes is just trying to be nice by offering prices. Stifling a sigh, he climbs onto the blonde woman’s lap to start his dance, ignoring the way her hands roamed over his ass, his thighs, his chest… “Sharon, come on now. He’s a man, not a doll. Have some respect.”

Sharon laughs, rolling her eyes, presumably at the brunette’s perceived naivety. “Are you fucking kidding me, Alex? We left respect at the goddamn door!” Then, to him: “Keep going for the next song too, okay?”

“Okay,” he replies, simply to acknowledge that he did hear her request and will obey it, before silently falling back into his dance routine. Most of the other women are reaching over to stick dollar bills into his tiny shorts, giggling drunkenly when their fingers brush up against his hot flesh. 

When the song finally ends, Sharon slaps his ass with a smirk. “Mm, and how much to bring you back to the hotel with us?”

This isn’t the first time that he’s had to deal with customers who couldn’t distinguish boundaries, but it’s the first time it’s made him flush this badly since his initial week dancing; not so much out of flattery, but rather from the abject humiliation of being asked how much he’s worth. _Is becoming a lawyer really worth all of this?_ “Ma’am, I believe you have the wrong idea.” 

He’s pull the bills out of his waistband and begins smoothing them out, about to grab the rest of his clothes, when Sharon stumbles up to him, grabbing him by the waist to pull him close. “Oh no, I never said we were done here.” 

She’s about to kiss him when Alex steps up to pull her away, saying, “God, Sharon, he’s not a plaything!” The other women are staring in shock, too drunk to fully process what’s going on – Wes wonders blandly if Alex is the designated driver then, considering how very sober she seems to be. 

“They warned me you were a debbie downer, Alex! I shoulda listened!” But Sharon is backing off, making her way back to the others to pick up her things. 

Lowering her voice, Alex leans in slightly and says, “I’m so sorry about her. Once she gets drunk, she just doesn’t know when to stop. Thank you for being so patient with all of that, it’s nothing that you should have to go through.” And looking him in the eyes, she hands him a fifty dollar bill. “To make up a little bit for your troubles.” 

It is the one and only time anyone in the bar has ever handed him the cash, instead of reaching in to place it in obscene areas or merely throwing it at his feet. Wes barely remembers to choke out a “Thank you,” before they’re filing out of the room, leaving behind nothing more than the cash in his hand and the lingering traces of expensive perfume.

*

“Doesn’t it bother you?” 

It’s Sunday morning, and Alex has her head pillowed on Wes’s chest, tracing light little circles into his skin with a perfectly manicured finger. “Doesn’t what bother me?”

“Oh come on. The stripping, obviously. I mean, I was thinking, since we’re together now…maybe I shouldn’t be…” 

Wes trails off as he sees the way the morning sun filtering in from between the light blue curtains turns Alex’s skin golden, watching her pick her head up to look at him fully, like she always does when she has something important to say. “Why? Because it seems like cheating?” She pauses and Wes can’t quite look at her, has to drop his eyes to the sheets and rub his thumb against the soft cotton. “Wes, listen to me. It’s just a job, okay? It’s just a job that pays well, and is giving you the means to pursue your dream. There’s no shame in that.” 

_If only the rest of the world thought like you._ But it’s just an ideal, encouraged only within the confines of their bedroom. 

As if the thought has crossed her mind as well, Alex cups his face in her hands, kissing him deeply, and in a few moments his hands come up to twist into her hair, and she climbs over to straddle his waist, and he’s no longer thinking of anything but the way her body feels against his.

*

For weeks, Wes thinks about Alex and just when he believes she’s dissipating from his mind into nothing but a phantom anomaly, a once in a lifetime moment of kindness, she appears at a networking event, smiling and laughing with a recruiter for a very influential law firm. 

There’s a moment in which he considers all possible exits, ready to drop it all and run despite how badly he needs the potential internships that are usually promised with just the right kind of resume, one that certainly doesn’t include the name of a shoddy strip club on the wrong side of the city. But then she sees him, the recognition dawning in the slight widening of her blue eyes, and Wes grips his briefcase just a little bit tighter and draws it closer to his leg as she finishes her conversation and walks over to him. “Hey, it’s Wes, right? Man, this place is pretty cutthroat. A lot of competition out there. How are you faring?” 

Alex is looking at him as if they met at a cocktail party or a criminal justice seminar, something entirely benign and not at all betraying the fact that memory could supply her a completely accurate representation of his almost naked body. “Yeah, um…it’s pretty bad. There a couple of places I’m kind of hopeful for. But, you know, they’d be unpaid, so...”

“Still pretty bad.” Alex nods, glancing once more at the crowd before turning to Wes and saying, “We could always commiserate with some drinks after this, if you want.” 

Wes has never wanted anything so badly in his life. “Sure, yeah. That sounds great.” He hopes it’s not too obvious that his heart is racing as she jots down her name and number on a note pad, handing him the folded paper to put inside his pocket. 

“Call me when you’re done? Pick a place that’s anything but the bar downstairs – I’m going to need to escape after a few more hours of this.”

And with that, she’s walking off to approach another recruiter, her modest heels click clacking on the tile flooring while Wes stays awkwardly watching her, knowing deep down that he’s already in love.

*

They find out about their internships on the same exact day and spend the night grinning at each other, saying, “No, your news first.” When they realize it’s for the same firm, they deem it fate, and celebrate with Chinese takeout and cheap wine. 

“We should probably not advertise that we’re a couple, though. At least for a while, just so everybody knows we’re professionals overall.” Alex says what Wes has been thinking but unsure how to put in a way that didn’t feel rude in his head. 

Within their first day, an associate comes up to Wes and says, “You and Alex are adorable. How long have you two been together?” All he’s done so far is hand her a few files, but apparently there was something in their smiles that hinted at so much more than the civil respectability they were attempting to exude. 

“Oh, uh, thanks. We’ve been dating for a couple of months now.” 

“Ah, young love!” The associate smiles at him and gently touches his arm, more unsolicited touching that before the club would’ve made him draw back. “You guys meet on campus?” 

Swallowing hard, Wes looks down at the files he’s been organizing, trying hard not to suddenly begin shuffling papers in a way to escape the conversation. Alex is across the room right now, answering the phone in her own little cubicle, and he hazards a glance in her direction, know it’s too far. 

There is only one solution: to lie. His chest tightens with anxiety as he says, “No, at a job fair.” 

Over their lunch break, Wes relays the scene back to Alex, who takes his hand and says, “It’s not a complete lie, darling. More like a half truth.” 

It seems to be Alex’s specialty, knowing precisely what to say in order to soothe the overactive anxiety of Wes’s mind. And in the moments that he’s kissing her carefully over leftover lasagna, it’s almost like the expectations of society can’t quite touch him, Alex’s ideals shielding him from judgment. 

It’s much too early but Wes knows, as Alex then launches into a rant about the injustice of unpaid internships, that this woman he met half naked and wrapped around a pole is the one he’s going to marry in the end.


End file.
